Just an FYI, I realise I haven't been blogging a lot lately. I'm just dead from all the readings/notes I have to do.
Things I hate:
Academic authors who have to impress people with their stupid h4x0r English, so much so that I have to read the same bloody paragraph over and over again for 5 times just to understand the gist of it.
stupid semester planners who put 3 heavy subjects into a semester lasting 2+ months, with a total of 6 subjects to cover for the final exam. As a cherry, they gave us no study break.
short days, as in there're not enough hours in a day for me to do what I need to do. *cries*
my soft squishy human body, cos if I were a Borg or something I would survive on no sleep at all and have very little moodswings/headaches, which are not fun when I'm trying to work out the meaning of a passage in an article titled 'Dominant Paradigms'. Stupid academic English *mumbles mumbles*
It's funny how my brain needs to be rested and charged for me to write better stuff. Looking at my last few entries, I realise I should've spent the time sleeping instead of writing junk. *sighs*
In other news I'll be working PWTC on Saturday. Good Friend (aka JW) called in a favour cos her company didn't have enough slaves to work the reception counter, and since we've known each other since Remove class, I figured that for once in my life I'm gonna do something to help her out. The pay's not really that good, considering my extreme lack of sleep, but hey, friends are friends.
Hopefully there're some hot guys (spillover effect) from the PC Fair to make the day a little less boring.
Brain the Cynic goes, "Uh huh."
Wow, I actually see the words I've typed blurring. That must mean I'm dead tired.
Good night, dearies. Long day tomorrow. I promise a food review blog and a (hopefully funny) gripe about [SUBJECT CENSORED]
Oh come on, surprises are good for health, unless you're 80 with a weak heart, and I don't think my audience demographics are that varied.
December 09, 2004
December 07, 2004
soft-boiled eggs...
...are cool.
I woke up at 10 today. After doing what I needed to do in the loo, I skipped to the kitchen to make the soft-boiled eggs I wanted to eat yesterday but couldn't cos there were no eggs.
Tadaa!
It's now 4 pm and I haven't had lunch yet. I'm also not feeling the slightest bit of hunger, which is very weird for me. I'm not used to eating 3 eggs at one go, and now I'm still feeling bloaty. I miss lunch. *bawls*
Maybe I'll eat anyway, mleh.
I woke up at 10 today. After doing what I needed to do in the loo, I skipped to the kitchen to make the soft-boiled eggs I wanted to eat yesterday but couldn't cos there were no eggs.
Tadaa!
It's now 4 pm and I haven't had lunch yet. I'm also not feeling the slightest bit of hunger, which is very weird for me. I'm not used to eating 3 eggs at one go, and now I'm still feeling bloaty. I miss lunch. *bawls*
Maybe I'll eat anyway, mleh.
Observing tanks and bumper-kissers
Picture this.
It's 7.30 am. You have been stuck in roughly the same spot for the past 30 minutes because you're a fine upstanding citizen and do not resort to slimy queue-jumping to save 40 minutes of your time at the expense of others. You're alternatively warbling along to the strains of Weird Al Yankovich's Traffic Jam and banging your head against the steering wheel because the stupid P driver in front of you just let another queue-jumping bastard into the legit lane, which you have been on. (for the past 30 minutes, remember?)
Finally the lights change and the lane transmutates from a parking lot to a real road where real cars move. P driver suddenly ups and decides to switch lanes. Unfortunately he drives his Wira like a tank driver drives a tank, so he ends up hogging half of two lanes, resulting in the inability of other vehicles to get through to make a mad dash before the light turns red again.
Cue honking of car horns and flashing of headlights. Cue extreme cluelessness in the part of P driver.
Despite the improbability of it (due to the fact that the entire universe is against you), you make it past the Wira-tank and laugh to yourself at the cars who will inevitably have to endure following behind the Wira-tank for the remainder of their journey. You suspect that if one had to vomit blood for every mistake P driver makes, one would end up exsanguinated within a distance of 500m. It's a happy thought because more dead people = fewer cars on the road = less traffic jam = real possibility of getting to office from home in 30 minutes real time.
You have a very warped mind.
After 58 grueling minutes spent stuck in an air-conditioned metal box with reasonably comfy seats, you make it to the final traffic light before you turn into KL's CBD, into the parking lot of your office, where you have to make a mad sprint to make it to your cubicle before your slave driver boss walks past with her whip in hand.
[PARAGRAPH ABOUT PEOPLE WHO LIKE BEING WHIPPED INTO SUBMISSION BY FEMALE BOSS DELETED]
If you think this blog is another gripe about lousy Malaysian drivers, fear not, for I am one myself and it would be extremely hypocritical for me to complain about my own kind. Oh no, this blog is about The People Who Try to Bumper-Kiss The Car In Front When the Traffic Lights Are Red. You know, the kind who'll move their gear from N to D because the car in front of them has advanced 3/4ths of an inch.
Since I'm bored, I'm going to attempt to delve into the minds of these maladjusted pseudo-speed freaks and try to find out the reason to their chronic Go-Go-GO!! syndrome.
Advancing 3/4ths of an inch will get you that much closer to beating the traffic lights next time they turn green.
To be specific, 3/4ths of an inch closer.
Of course, this has to be coupled with extreme alertness and constant revving of your engine, because the point is to fly past the junction the minute the lights turn green, nevermind that you're in a car and not a jet. It wouldn't do for someone to be languidly looking at the blue sky while waiting for the lights to turn. It also wouldn't help the situation if someone actually had their gears at N instead of the ever-ready state of D, cos then that'll be a precious few seconds of your time wasted while the clearly-inept driver changes gears, when the light is green.
Cue honking and flashing of headlights. Again.
Advancing 3/4ths of an inch will buy you enough time to stop for a pastry on the way to the office.
Everyone knows breakfast is the most important meal, and we should all allocate enough time to have a healthy balanced meal to start the day. Maybe an icky tasteless muesli bar or some icky tasteless oatmeal, washed down by some orange juice or a glass of milk. Nasi Lemak and kopi kau is not a healthy balanced meal, but who gives a flying uh rat's ass.
Unfortunately, most of us set the alarm clock just early enough to give us enough time to wash, dress and grab whatever it is we need to grab (briefcase/handbag/files/folders/shoes/coins/overdue library books etc) before leaving the house. If you decide to open the fridge to grab a snack (assuming there is a snack in your fridge) on your way out, you will inevitably rue those 10 seconds or so you spent rummaging through the fridge when you're stuck in your daily jam, so why give yourself one more reason to hate yourself anyway? That's only going to end up with you having another one of those 'talks' with your therapist, and they charge by the hour.
Assuming you have to pass through 7 traffic lights on your way to work, 3/4ths x 7 = 21, and that's a whopping 5 inches. When you convert those inches to time, you can get anything between 2 seconds to 13 minutes, so let's go with a middle value and assume the answer is 6 minutes. That's more than enough time to stop at Meidi-Ya for a nice little cheese-filled pastry that's still warm from the oven.
Advancing 3/4ths of an inch will keep immoral queue-jumpers at bay
Vulture: A person of a rapacious, predatory, or profiteering nature.
Opportunists are going to take any opening they see and will attempt to shove their cars head-first into any open space that's more than 6 inches apart, so it's understandable that some drivers would want to hog every 3/4 inch of available space so that the vultures will have to wait for another victim, or better still, miss their turning. Unfortunately that never happens, so we'll just stick with the former.
Nowadays, lanes are sometimes separated by those nifty little orange rubber sticks that look like metal, but really aren't, so they trick people into thinking that their cars would be scratched beyond recognition should they ram through the sticks. City Hall finally got something right, w00tness.
To be honest, I have no idea why people like to stick so close to the tail of the car in front. I never move forward unless there space is enough to fit half of my car, but then I've noticed that my dad does it quite frequently. The day I decide that my life is not worth living anymore I'll ask him and hopefully he'll let me blog about it before he kills me.
The things I do in the name of blogging. ;)
Notes
P driver: young person whose license is on probation for 2 years until they get a REAL license. They are, alternatively, extremely clueless or extremely aggressive. Encounters always end with exasperation/frustration/curses on your part.
D: Drive
N: Neutral
So I can't drive a manual (stick shift) car, bite me. :p
Nasi Lemak: literally, fat rice. As I said, it's not a healthy balanced meal at all. Rice is mixed with coconut milk and boiled, and the condiments are usually sambal (spicy, oily stuff), crispy deep-fried anchovies, peanuts, a few slices of cucumber and half a hard-boiled egg. pic here.
Kopi kau: coffee, really strong. When done right (by old uncles in dirty singlets and boxers, in coffeeshops with mosaic tiled floors that're grimy and crusted with gunk), it puts espresso to shame.
Meidi-Ya: The best bakery ever.
Nasi lemak pics stolen from this site.
It's 7.30 am. You have been stuck in roughly the same spot for the past 30 minutes because you're a fine upstanding citizen and do not resort to slimy queue-jumping to save 40 minutes of your time at the expense of others. You're alternatively warbling along to the strains of Weird Al Yankovich's Traffic Jam and banging your head against the steering wheel because the stupid P driver in front of you just let another queue-jumping bastard into the legit lane, which you have been on. (for the past 30 minutes, remember?)
Finally the lights change and the lane transmutates from a parking lot to a real road where real cars move. P driver suddenly ups and decides to switch lanes. Unfortunately he drives his Wira like a tank driver drives a tank, so he ends up hogging half of two lanes, resulting in the inability of other vehicles to get through to make a mad dash before the light turns red again.
Cue honking of car horns and flashing of headlights. Cue extreme cluelessness in the part of P driver.
Despite the improbability of it (due to the fact that the entire universe is against you), you make it past the Wira-tank and laugh to yourself at the cars who will inevitably have to endure following behind the Wira-tank for the remainder of their journey. You suspect that if one had to vomit blood for every mistake P driver makes, one would end up exsanguinated within a distance of 500m. It's a happy thought because more dead people = fewer cars on the road = less traffic jam = real possibility of getting to office from home in 30 minutes real time.
You have a very warped mind.
After 58 grueling minutes spent stuck in an air-conditioned metal box with reasonably comfy seats, you make it to the final traffic light before you turn into KL's CBD, into the parking lot of your office, where you have to make a mad sprint to make it to your cubicle before your slave driver boss walks past with her whip in hand.
[PARAGRAPH ABOUT PEOPLE WHO LIKE BEING WHIPPED INTO SUBMISSION BY FEMALE BOSS DELETED]
If you think this blog is another gripe about lousy Malaysian drivers, fear not, for I am one myself and it would be extremely hypocritical for me to complain about my own kind. Oh no, this blog is about The People Who Try to Bumper-Kiss The Car In Front When the Traffic Lights Are Red. You know, the kind who'll move their gear from N to D because the car in front of them has advanced 3/4ths of an inch.
Since I'm bored, I'm going to attempt to delve into the minds of these maladjusted pseudo-speed freaks and try to find out the reason to their chronic Go-Go-GO!! syndrome.
Advancing 3/4ths of an inch will get you that much closer to beating the traffic lights next time they turn green.
To be specific, 3/4ths of an inch closer.
Of course, this has to be coupled with extreme alertness and constant revving of your engine, because the point is to fly past the junction the minute the lights turn green, nevermind that you're in a car and not a jet. It wouldn't do for someone to be languidly looking at the blue sky while waiting for the lights to turn. It also wouldn't help the situation if someone actually had their gears at N instead of the ever-ready state of D, cos then that'll be a precious few seconds of your time wasted while the clearly-inept driver changes gears, when the light is green.
Cue honking and flashing of headlights. Again.
Advancing 3/4ths of an inch will buy you enough time to stop for a pastry on the way to the office.
Everyone knows breakfast is the most important meal, and we should all allocate enough time to have a healthy balanced meal to start the day. Maybe an icky tasteless muesli bar or some icky tasteless oatmeal, washed down by some orange juice or a glass of milk. Nasi Lemak and kopi kau is not a healthy balanced meal, but who gives a flying uh rat's ass.
Unfortunately, most of us set the alarm clock just early enough to give us enough time to wash, dress and grab whatever it is we need to grab (briefcase/handbag/files/folders/shoes/coins/overdue library books etc) before leaving the house. If you decide to open the fridge to grab a snack (assuming there is a snack in your fridge) on your way out, you will inevitably rue those 10 seconds or so you spent rummaging through the fridge when you're stuck in your daily jam, so why give yourself one more reason to hate yourself anyway? That's only going to end up with you having another one of those 'talks' with your therapist, and they charge by the hour.
Assuming you have to pass through 7 traffic lights on your way to work, 3/4ths x 7 = 21, and that's a whopping 5 inches. When you convert those inches to time, you can get anything between 2 seconds to 13 minutes, so let's go with a middle value and assume the answer is 6 minutes. That's more than enough time to stop at Meidi-Ya for a nice little cheese-filled pastry that's still warm from the oven.
Advancing 3/4ths of an inch will keep immoral queue-jumpers at bay
Vulture: A person of a rapacious, predatory, or profiteering nature.
Opportunists are going to take any opening they see and will attempt to shove their cars head-first into any open space that's more than 6 inches apart, so it's understandable that some drivers would want to hog every 3/4 inch of available space so that the vultures will have to wait for another victim, or better still, miss their turning. Unfortunately that never happens, so we'll just stick with the former.
Nowadays, lanes are sometimes separated by those nifty little orange rubber sticks that look like metal, but really aren't, so they trick people into thinking that their cars would be scratched beyond recognition should they ram through the sticks. City Hall finally got something right, w00tness.
To be honest, I have no idea why people like to stick so close to the tail of the car in front. I never move forward unless there space is enough to fit half of my car, but then I've noticed that my dad does it quite frequently. The day I decide that my life is not worth living anymore I'll ask him and hopefully he'll let me blog about it before he kills me.
The things I do in the name of blogging. ;)
Notes
P driver: young person whose license is on probation for 2 years until they get a REAL license. They are, alternatively, extremely clueless or extremely aggressive. Encounters always end with exasperation/frustration/curses on your part.
D: Drive
N: Neutral
So I can't drive a manual (stick shift) car, bite me. :p
Nasi Lemak: literally, fat rice. As I said, it's not a healthy balanced meal at all. Rice is mixed with coconut milk and boiled, and the condiments are usually sambal (spicy, oily stuff), crispy deep-fried anchovies, peanuts, a few slices of cucumber and half a hard-boiled egg. pic here.
Kopi kau: coffee, really strong. When done right (by old uncles in dirty singlets and boxers, in coffeeshops with mosaic tiled floors that're grimy and crusted with gunk), it puts espresso to shame.
Meidi-Ya: The best bakery ever.
Nasi lemak pics stolen from this site.
December 05, 2004
Untitled #1
They say first-time writers usually write about incest. Check. They say writers should always write about what they know. Check.
Now that I re-read this, I feel sorta embarassed especially at some of the words I used, but then again I'm high and it doesn't matter. Originally written somewhere in September/October of 2002 over the course of one night. Couldn't sleep :p First posted in BF on the day it was finished. Minor edits (grammar/spelling) performed but this will never be re-written again, because it's my baby and I love it the way it is. Posted for posterity.
Untitled #1
The sky was turning pink, with orange and purple hues on the sides of the canvas. The sun, a deep reddish orb, had completed its course for the day; it was now sinking, signaling the imminent darkness.
Stumbling through the doorway, I scraped my arm on the metal bolt. It didn't hurt. I touched the abrasion, smearing the dark red liquid that had begun oozing out. I needed a shower; the blood in my mouth was kick-starting my gag reflex. I never could stand the rusty iron-like flavour of my blood. As I made my way to the bathroom, I wondered if all humans tasted the same. I didn't know; I've never tasted another person's blood before.
Walking into the dingy room where I had spent the last six months, I slowly picked my way to the small, claustrophobic bathroom. Dizziness assaulted me in waves. I would be walking just fine, when suddenly the floor seemed to come up to my face. The feeling of my chest tightening returned, reminding me of when he had his hands wrapped around my neck, squeezing the air out of me. I shook my head, trying to get rid of the sensation, the memory.
I looked into the grimy mirror, caked with dirt on the sides, and a face stared back at me. Ignoring the permanent dark rings under my eyes, I saw that my left eye was swollen, purpling into an ugly bruise. A trickle of blood snaked its way slowly down from my nostril. My lip was bleeding from where it came into contact with my teeth. There were cuts on my cheek. I blinked. My neck was black-and-blue. I opened my hands and gripped my own throat lightly, the marks matching, to some extent; my hands were not as big as his.
A single tear rolled from my eye down my cheek. Bolstering myself, I closed my eyes and fought the urge to cry. I had been crying for no particular reason lately. I focused on the sink instead, on turning the faucet. There were suddenly two rusted iron spouts, double images telling me my dizziness had returned. I closed my eyes to steady myself. Water was gushing out from the faucet. I scooped up the water and splashed it on my face, feeling a sting as sharp as razor blades as the water hit my open wounds. Looking up, I stared at the mirror again, diluted blood dripping off the angle of my face. Water, blood and tears.
I pressed a finger pad softly against the pulpy bruise around my nose. My brain had captured every nuance of his beefy arm, balled into an angry fist, as it came into contact with my flesh. I heard a crack, I felt a crack. I could still feel his scent on me, his sticky essence, his weight, his grunts echoing in my mind. It reminded me of a time I had buried deep in my subconscious. Gripped by a sudden panic, I ripped off all my clothes violently and clawed wildly at the shower knob. Bills fluttered from the pocket of my dress and settled on the cold tiles; I ignored them. The full force of the icy water hit my body and I screamed aloud, recoiling from the blast.
Steeling my nerves, I forced myself to stand under the torrent of ice-cold water as it cascaded down my body, cleansing me. Fingers quivering, I reached for the bar of mushy soap to scrub myself, ignoring the sears of pain as water and detergent met raw flesh. I had to scour the remains of his filth off my body.
Shivering, partly from the icy coldness, I remember a day almost two years ago, when I had tried to clean the blood and mud off my soiled body. My fingers were numb then, they were numb now. I closed my eyes, willing my mind to forget it, to forget everything, but the feeling overwhelmed me, leaving me helpless.
It had been a beautiful day. The sky looked like it was painted by an ethereal hand, a beautiful blue that I still can't describe, dotted by clouds of white and silver candyfloss. The heavens beckoned invitingly, and I wanted to soar amongst the billowy clouds. It was a childhood dream, to lose myself amongst the fluffy cotton-candy amidst the backdrop of a blue sky and just fly away.
A wreath of daisies adorned my hair, as I hummed to myself and meandered around the grassy meadow, gathering flowers. I was aware of a shadow falling over me, and I was jerked bodily off the ground, a huge hand across my mouth, almost crushing my jaw in a bid to keep me from screaming. I struggled, but was no match for his brute strength. Helpless, the flowers I had gathered fell from my arms onto the green grass beneath my feet. I remember looking at them as I was dragged away, a forlorn posy of milky white.
As he pushed me down onto the ground, I knew what was going to happen. Scratching and clawing wildly, I managed to rake my nails across his face. The backhand dazed me. There was liquid in my mouth; the tangy rust telling me it was blood. I had probably bitten myself. My mind froze, and I stopped struggling. His rough and calloused hands caressed me, coarse fingers running through my long hair. I felt him press his lips against my neck, his bristly beard scratching my soft skin, and I fought a shudder of revulsion.
Eyes closed, I concentrated on the beautiful sky, on the pure white daisies with the golden hearts, and the silvery castle of clouds I would live in. The ground was soft and muddy; there was a hard lump near my backbone. 'It was probably a stone', I thought as a saw a small bird up in the sky. My sky. I closed my eyes, I didn't want to look anymore, and felt the buttons of my dress popping, his hands on me, on my bare skin. He was speaking, his warm breath grazing my face, yet still I kept my eyes shut, my ears closed, my hands clenched, my brain sealed. In comforting tones, I could hear him try to soothe me; all the while his hands were gradually getting rougher in their quest to relieve me of my clothes.
With a sickening rip, I heard my rest of my dress tear. I held back a sob. He was becoming increasingly impatient at my unwillingness to ease his progress. I thought about the wedding, 3 months ago. Mother was lovely; she wore a beautiful virginal white gown. He looked his usual self, dour, hard-faced and cheerless. I never liked him. My eyes flew open when I felt his coarse beard grate my face, his tongue pushing in my mouth. I saw the look on his face, the leer that would haunt me for months to come in my dreams whenever I managed to fall asleep. He left a trail of saliva and sneered, covering my mouth with his hand. Closing my eyes, I was tempted to bite him, to draw blood. Then he penetrated me.
My entire body spasmed. I tried to scream, it was painful, it was alien, his body jerking on top of me, moving against mine. Tears were escaping from the corners of my eyes, still squeezed tightly shut. Screaming silently for help, I blocked out the pain, his hand still over my mouth. My head was pounding. His body went still after a shudder, his grunts echoing in my brain.
When I opened my eyes, he was gone. I laid there looking at the sky for a very long time, numb. It was so, so beautiful, pristine and unspoiled. I remember making my way back to the house, into the bathroom. I remember the big mirror, reflecting light from an open window, and I remember the person who stared back at me. She was ugly, bruises on her face, bruises on her body. She was dirty, mud, blood and grit on her body. Her long hair was matted, daisy petals tangled in between strands of once-shiny hair now slick with muck. She looked so bleak. I remember feeling sorry for her.
My throat restricted, I gagged and felt a surge of hot, sour liquid welling up. Bent over the sink, I retched, tears mingling with the blood and vomit in my mouth. Sobbing, I dashed to the shower, turning it on at full blast. I had forgotten to switch on the heater, cold water streamed out of the showerhead. It didn't matter.
Water sluiced down my body, washing the mud from my hair and the blood from my face. I grabbed the soap and started scrubbing; I didn’t stop until my skin was raw and pink. The water soothed the soreness of my skin, and the pain abated after a while. I picked up the bar of soap and started scrubbing again, tears streaming down my face from the pain, both inside and out.
My eyes fell on a pair of scissors. I saw my hands, blue-veined and trembling from the cold, reach towards the gleaming steel blades. It felt heavy in my hands. Still staring at the mirror, I grabbed locks of my wet hair and started cutting, tufts of glossy blackness dropping onto the cold wet tiles. The feeling of the blades severing my hair felt good. Frenzied, I kept on going and didn't stop until I had sheared my head. With my hair gone, I placed the scissors carefully on the counter and looked in the mirror. A blanched face stared back at me, nose red and swollen from sniffling. I was mesmerised by the eyes, the dark rings around them made the eyes look bigger, and the tears cried made them more luminous.
By the time I got out of the bathroom, my skin was wrinkled and soggy, wet and sore. Standing in front of the open window, I felt a cool breeze chill my already cold skin. Looking out at the pale, incandescent moon glowing in the night sky, I cried. For my helplessness, for my weakness, my lost innocence.
Two months later I left home, vowing not to cry anymore, to be strong. I did nothing, told no one. And ended up here, still cold, still hurting, still in pain, still seeking salvation. Slumped naked on the frosty tiles of the tiny dirty bathroom, I felt subdued, bitter even.
Closing my eyes, I felt the tears come again; this time I didn't fight it.
-end-
Related links: Protect Yourself
Not that I'm assuming anyone is going to steal this, but in the event that you feel like it, please please drop me a line and ask, and I'll let you use it. Any other thing from this blog you can take, but this one is personal, ok?
In other news, I'm fine now. :)
Now that I re-read this, I feel sorta embarassed especially at some of the words I used, but then again I'm high and it doesn't matter. Originally written somewhere in September/October of 2002 over the course of one night. Couldn't sleep :p First posted in BF on the day it was finished. Minor edits (grammar/spelling) performed but this will never be re-written again, because it's my baby and I love it the way it is. Posted for posterity.
Untitled #1
The sky was turning pink, with orange and purple hues on the sides of the canvas. The sun, a deep reddish orb, had completed its course for the day; it was now sinking, signaling the imminent darkness.
Stumbling through the doorway, I scraped my arm on the metal bolt. It didn't hurt. I touched the abrasion, smearing the dark red liquid that had begun oozing out. I needed a shower; the blood in my mouth was kick-starting my gag reflex. I never could stand the rusty iron-like flavour of my blood. As I made my way to the bathroom, I wondered if all humans tasted the same. I didn't know; I've never tasted another person's blood before.
Walking into the dingy room where I had spent the last six months, I slowly picked my way to the small, claustrophobic bathroom. Dizziness assaulted me in waves. I would be walking just fine, when suddenly the floor seemed to come up to my face. The feeling of my chest tightening returned, reminding me of when he had his hands wrapped around my neck, squeezing the air out of me. I shook my head, trying to get rid of the sensation, the memory.
I looked into the grimy mirror, caked with dirt on the sides, and a face stared back at me. Ignoring the permanent dark rings under my eyes, I saw that my left eye was swollen, purpling into an ugly bruise. A trickle of blood snaked its way slowly down from my nostril. My lip was bleeding from where it came into contact with my teeth. There were cuts on my cheek. I blinked. My neck was black-and-blue. I opened my hands and gripped my own throat lightly, the marks matching, to some extent; my hands were not as big as his.
A single tear rolled from my eye down my cheek. Bolstering myself, I closed my eyes and fought the urge to cry. I had been crying for no particular reason lately. I focused on the sink instead, on turning the faucet. There were suddenly two rusted iron spouts, double images telling me my dizziness had returned. I closed my eyes to steady myself. Water was gushing out from the faucet. I scooped up the water and splashed it on my face, feeling a sting as sharp as razor blades as the water hit my open wounds. Looking up, I stared at the mirror again, diluted blood dripping off the angle of my face. Water, blood and tears.
I pressed a finger pad softly against the pulpy bruise around my nose. My brain had captured every nuance of his beefy arm, balled into an angry fist, as it came into contact with my flesh. I heard a crack, I felt a crack. I could still feel his scent on me, his sticky essence, his weight, his grunts echoing in my mind. It reminded me of a time I had buried deep in my subconscious. Gripped by a sudden panic, I ripped off all my clothes violently and clawed wildly at the shower knob. Bills fluttered from the pocket of my dress and settled on the cold tiles; I ignored them. The full force of the icy water hit my body and I screamed aloud, recoiling from the blast.
Steeling my nerves, I forced myself to stand under the torrent of ice-cold water as it cascaded down my body, cleansing me. Fingers quivering, I reached for the bar of mushy soap to scrub myself, ignoring the sears of pain as water and detergent met raw flesh. I had to scour the remains of his filth off my body.
Shivering, partly from the icy coldness, I remember a day almost two years ago, when I had tried to clean the blood and mud off my soiled body. My fingers were numb then, they were numb now. I closed my eyes, willing my mind to forget it, to forget everything, but the feeling overwhelmed me, leaving me helpless.
It had been a beautiful day. The sky looked like it was painted by an ethereal hand, a beautiful blue that I still can't describe, dotted by clouds of white and silver candyfloss. The heavens beckoned invitingly, and I wanted to soar amongst the billowy clouds. It was a childhood dream, to lose myself amongst the fluffy cotton-candy amidst the backdrop of a blue sky and just fly away.
A wreath of daisies adorned my hair, as I hummed to myself and meandered around the grassy meadow, gathering flowers. I was aware of a shadow falling over me, and I was jerked bodily off the ground, a huge hand across my mouth, almost crushing my jaw in a bid to keep me from screaming. I struggled, but was no match for his brute strength. Helpless, the flowers I had gathered fell from my arms onto the green grass beneath my feet. I remember looking at them as I was dragged away, a forlorn posy of milky white.
As he pushed me down onto the ground, I knew what was going to happen. Scratching and clawing wildly, I managed to rake my nails across his face. The backhand dazed me. There was liquid in my mouth; the tangy rust telling me it was blood. I had probably bitten myself. My mind froze, and I stopped struggling. His rough and calloused hands caressed me, coarse fingers running through my long hair. I felt him press his lips against my neck, his bristly beard scratching my soft skin, and I fought a shudder of revulsion.
Eyes closed, I concentrated on the beautiful sky, on the pure white daisies with the golden hearts, and the silvery castle of clouds I would live in. The ground was soft and muddy; there was a hard lump near my backbone. 'It was probably a stone', I thought as a saw a small bird up in the sky. My sky. I closed my eyes, I didn't want to look anymore, and felt the buttons of my dress popping, his hands on me, on my bare skin. He was speaking, his warm breath grazing my face, yet still I kept my eyes shut, my ears closed, my hands clenched, my brain sealed. In comforting tones, I could hear him try to soothe me; all the while his hands were gradually getting rougher in their quest to relieve me of my clothes.
With a sickening rip, I heard my rest of my dress tear. I held back a sob. He was becoming increasingly impatient at my unwillingness to ease his progress. I thought about the wedding, 3 months ago. Mother was lovely; she wore a beautiful virginal white gown. He looked his usual self, dour, hard-faced and cheerless. I never liked him. My eyes flew open when I felt his coarse beard grate my face, his tongue pushing in my mouth. I saw the look on his face, the leer that would haunt me for months to come in my dreams whenever I managed to fall asleep. He left a trail of saliva and sneered, covering my mouth with his hand. Closing my eyes, I was tempted to bite him, to draw blood. Then he penetrated me.
My entire body spasmed. I tried to scream, it was painful, it was alien, his body jerking on top of me, moving against mine. Tears were escaping from the corners of my eyes, still squeezed tightly shut. Screaming silently for help, I blocked out the pain, his hand still over my mouth. My head was pounding. His body went still after a shudder, his grunts echoing in my brain.
When I opened my eyes, he was gone. I laid there looking at the sky for a very long time, numb. It was so, so beautiful, pristine and unspoiled. I remember making my way back to the house, into the bathroom. I remember the big mirror, reflecting light from an open window, and I remember the person who stared back at me. She was ugly, bruises on her face, bruises on her body. She was dirty, mud, blood and grit on her body. Her long hair was matted, daisy petals tangled in between strands of once-shiny hair now slick with muck. She looked so bleak. I remember feeling sorry for her.
My throat restricted, I gagged and felt a surge of hot, sour liquid welling up. Bent over the sink, I retched, tears mingling with the blood and vomit in my mouth. Sobbing, I dashed to the shower, turning it on at full blast. I had forgotten to switch on the heater, cold water streamed out of the showerhead. It didn't matter.
Water sluiced down my body, washing the mud from my hair and the blood from my face. I grabbed the soap and started scrubbing; I didn’t stop until my skin was raw and pink. The water soothed the soreness of my skin, and the pain abated after a while. I picked up the bar of soap and started scrubbing again, tears streaming down my face from the pain, both inside and out.
My eyes fell on a pair of scissors. I saw my hands, blue-veined and trembling from the cold, reach towards the gleaming steel blades. It felt heavy in my hands. Still staring at the mirror, I grabbed locks of my wet hair and started cutting, tufts of glossy blackness dropping onto the cold wet tiles. The feeling of the blades severing my hair felt good. Frenzied, I kept on going and didn't stop until I had sheared my head. With my hair gone, I placed the scissors carefully on the counter and looked in the mirror. A blanched face stared back at me, nose red and swollen from sniffling. I was mesmerised by the eyes, the dark rings around them made the eyes look bigger, and the tears cried made them more luminous.
By the time I got out of the bathroom, my skin was wrinkled and soggy, wet and sore. Standing in front of the open window, I felt a cool breeze chill my already cold skin. Looking out at the pale, incandescent moon glowing in the night sky, I cried. For my helplessness, for my weakness, my lost innocence.
Two months later I left home, vowing not to cry anymore, to be strong. I did nothing, told no one. And ended up here, still cold, still hurting, still in pain, still seeking salvation. Slumped naked on the frosty tiles of the tiny dirty bathroom, I felt subdued, bitter even.
Closing my eyes, I felt the tears come again; this time I didn't fight it.
-end-
Related links: Protect Yourself
Not that I'm assuming anyone is going to steal this, but in the event that you feel like it, please please drop me a line and ask, and I'll let you use it. Any other thing from this blog you can take, but this one is personal, ok?
In other news, I'm fine now. :)
December 03, 2004
Just another gay review
This contains spoilers, obviously.
There've been a lot of bad reviews about Alexander, mostly centering on the Eew factor of watching grown men stare meaningfully into each other's eyes ala Sam and Frodo.
This movie starts with a death scene of Alexander (seriously, who would've thought otherwise?) followed by Anthony Hopkins in a garden-like library. At first I thought he was teaching a class, but then later found out that he was actually narrating the life story of Alexander to his scribes. Near the end of the movie it comes to me (finally) that the library is one of the Wonders of the World, but I forgot the name of it. :p
Gripes:
My main gripe is that with Alexander, they could've made it into a set of maybe 15 cassettes and nothing much would be lost in the transition. The point of making a movie that cost an excess of $100 million is to show the audience the story, not narrate virtually the whole damn thing.
If you want to narrate, that's fine. Films strong on narration have succeeded, but don't ignore one point: a strong and interesting script. (Dogma)
In continuance with the point above, Ptolemy's narration is too long and boring. The movie watches like a documentary, and if I wanted to watch a documentary I would turn on channel 50 and tune in to a more coherent version of Alexander's life and death.
One thing I can bet on, this movie isn't going to win any awards for editing, if any at all. Either the director didn't know how he wanted to tell the story, or the editing team was on Valium and no one bothered to check their work. The story seems to be erratically spliced together, with a completely jarring flashback episode that does absolutely nothing for the storyline at the time it was flashed.
Some flashbacks explain the story so that you go "Aaah, that's why." That's a good flashback. Some flashbacks explain the story but then you go, "Man, that was stupid. Why didn't they tell me that earlier instead?" That's a bad flashback. Guess which one the Alexander's flashback falls under.
The movie focused too much on making Alexander look more like a man and less like a tyrant, to the extent that I don't get why he was called "The Great". Whenever people mention Alexander the Great, the first thing that pops into mind is that he is a great military leader and he was determined as heck. He used strategies that were spectacularly successful (in terms of achieving victory), and he was ruthless to the point that he thought nothing of dragging a live man tied behind a chariot round and round a town until he died. Just like Achilles, only more brutal.
While not sanitising Alexander's sexuality, the director chose to sanitise his brutality. What gives? A great leader can never achieve great things without some measure of ruthlessness in him, and Alexander was perhaps the most ruthless of them all.
Just as well they chose to omit "The Great" and simply chose to call the film "Alexander".
Alexander the Kid was cute. Alexander the Grown Up sucks balls. Of all the people to play the role they had to pick Colin Farrell, the pretty boy who tries to pretend he's not a pretty boy by swearing a lot and sleeping with loads of women.
The movie does not have many battle scenes, which is not necessarily a bad thing (Saving Private Ryan) but with a storyline geared towards the Great Man's personality, you definitely need a capable actor, at the very least. If you can't show determination and cunning through battle scenes, you need to find some other means to do it. If you can't portray how charismatic Alexander is to have inspired his men to march for 10 years, then the movie is lost, because you just can't understand why Alexander did what he did. Farrell is not a strong actor. He can play espionage agents and other 'cool' characters like that, but he cannot play Alexander.
Opposite of the word 'gripes':
It's tolerable (despite all the gripes above) if you don't go in expecting a movie like Troy. The movie's supposed to be a pretty accurate representation of Alexander's life, according to an Alexander-freak friend of mine.
It gives a different perspective on Alexander and shows us (or tries to) the motivation behind the man who managed to conquer half the world in around 10 years. He just wants to get away from his mother. *shrugs*
The main reason I went to watch the movie was because I read this post about the gayness of the movie and wanted to see if Hollywood dared to portray Alexander as the bisexual that he is. I also wanted to see if the director had glorified the sexual aspect as a gimmick, cos that's almost worst than whitewashing Achilles.
Fortunately, what I saw was a man who cares deeply about the people he loved, even though Roxane (Rosario Dawson) is a choice that seemed almost unbelievable, in a bad way. FYI, historically, Bagoas is a eunuch. Haphaestion, IMO a strong man for wishing Alexander gets a son on his wedding night. *tear*
FYI2, bisexuality as a term did not exist in the time of Alexander the Great. It was normal for men to have male lovers, usually younger though, and it was us straight people who were weird. Whenever passing judgements on a movie's portrayal of anything, please remember that context is an important concept to understand.
I complained about too much personality in the gripes section, but humanising Alexander is a pretty good thing to do cos it gives a different view of Alexander on top of the image I already had of him as a ruthless leader. If I didn't know jackshit about Alexander I would've complained more.
We also got to see the softer side of Alexander, in a sense that documentaries only told us "he took mercy on those who surrendered", but never said he allowed the Persian princess extensive freedoms after he conquered her father's lands. I have no idea how accurate that really is, but it's a pretty nice thing to do.
Finally, Cleitus. Who is hot.
Special section:
Special section dedicated to Angelina Jolie, the only ogle-able female and the best looking character in the entire movie. Of course, they compensated by making her freaky as heck. Olympias is sexy, but seriously weird. Notice how Jolie really shines when she's doing oddball roles? And I swear she got that campy accent from Kate Beckinsale in Van Helsing.
While the movie has strong Oedipal undercurrents that're pretty disturbing, Angelina Jolie makes it watchable. She looks like she's having fun in the movie, as opposed to Farrell's hangdog look.
Note: Picture captions from top to bottom: Alexander movie poster; Olympias and a young Alexander; Alexander at the Battle of Gaugamela; Alexander marrying Roxane; last battle scene in the movie (which shows Alexander to be a prety stupid leader); Haphaestion; Olympias, Philip and Alexander, the happy family; Angelina Jolie as Olympias.
Most pictures taken from this site.
There've been a lot of bad reviews about Alexander, mostly centering on the Eew factor of watching grown men stare meaningfully into each other's eyes ala Sam and Frodo.
This movie starts with a death scene of Alexander (seriously, who would've thought otherwise?) followed by Anthony Hopkins in a garden-like library. At first I thought he was teaching a class, but then later found out that he was actually narrating the life story of Alexander to his scribes. Near the end of the movie it comes to me (finally) that the library is one of the Wonders of the World, but I forgot the name of it. :p
Gripes:
My main gripe is that with Alexander, they could've made it into a set of maybe 15 cassettes and nothing much would be lost in the transition. The point of making a movie that cost an excess of $100 million is to show the audience the story, not narrate virtually the whole damn thing.
If you want to narrate, that's fine. Films strong on narration have succeeded, but don't ignore one point: a strong and interesting script. (Dogma)
In continuance with the point above, Ptolemy's narration is too long and boring. The movie watches like a documentary, and if I wanted to watch a documentary I would turn on channel 50 and tune in to a more coherent version of Alexander's life and death.
One thing I can bet on, this movie isn't going to win any awards for editing, if any at all. Either the director didn't know how he wanted to tell the story, or the editing team was on Valium and no one bothered to check their work. The story seems to be erratically spliced together, with a completely jarring flashback episode that does absolutely nothing for the storyline at the time it was flashed.
Some flashbacks explain the story so that you go "Aaah, that's why." That's a good flashback. Some flashbacks explain the story but then you go, "Man, that was stupid. Why didn't they tell me that earlier instead?" That's a bad flashback. Guess which one the Alexander's flashback falls under.
The movie focused too much on making Alexander look more like a man and less like a tyrant, to the extent that I don't get why he was called "The Great". Whenever people mention Alexander the Great, the first thing that pops into mind is that he is a great military leader and he was determined as heck. He used strategies that were spectacularly successful (in terms of achieving victory), and he was ruthless to the point that he thought nothing of dragging a live man tied behind a chariot round and round a town until he died. Just like Achilles, only more brutal.
While not sanitising Alexander's sexuality, the director chose to sanitise his brutality. What gives? A great leader can never achieve great things without some measure of ruthlessness in him, and Alexander was perhaps the most ruthless of them all.
Just as well they chose to omit "The Great" and simply chose to call the film "Alexander".
Alexander the Kid was cute. Alexander the Grown Up sucks balls. Of all the people to play the role they had to pick Colin Farrell, the pretty boy who tries to pretend he's not a pretty boy by swearing a lot and sleeping with loads of women.
The movie does not have many battle scenes, which is not necessarily a bad thing (Saving Private Ryan) but with a storyline geared towards the Great Man's personality, you definitely need a capable actor, at the very least. If you can't show determination and cunning through battle scenes, you need to find some other means to do it. If you can't portray how charismatic Alexander is to have inspired his men to march for 10 years, then the movie is lost, because you just can't understand why Alexander did what he did. Farrell is not a strong actor. He can play espionage agents and other 'cool' characters like that, but he cannot play Alexander.
Opposite of the word 'gripes':
It's tolerable (despite all the gripes above) if you don't go in expecting a movie like Troy. The movie's supposed to be a pretty accurate representation of Alexander's life, according to an Alexander-freak friend of mine.
It gives a different perspective on Alexander and shows us (or tries to) the motivation behind the man who managed to conquer half the world in around 10 years. He just wants to get away from his mother. *shrugs*
The main reason I went to watch the movie was because I read this post about the gayness of the movie and wanted to see if Hollywood dared to portray Alexander as the bisexual that he is. I also wanted to see if the director had glorified the sexual aspect as a gimmick, cos that's almost worst than whitewashing Achilles.
Fortunately, what I saw was a man who cares deeply about the people he loved, even though Roxane (Rosario Dawson) is a choice that seemed almost unbelievable, in a bad way. FYI, historically, Bagoas is a eunuch. Haphaestion, IMO a strong man for wishing Alexander gets a son on his wedding night. *tear*
FYI2, bisexuality as a term did not exist in the time of Alexander the Great. It was normal for men to have male lovers, usually younger though, and it was us straight people who were weird. Whenever passing judgements on a movie's portrayal of anything, please remember that context is an important concept to understand.
I complained about too much personality in the gripes section, but humanising Alexander is a pretty good thing to do cos it gives a different view of Alexander on top of the image I already had of him as a ruthless leader. If I didn't know jackshit about Alexander I would've complained more.
We also got to see the softer side of Alexander, in a sense that documentaries only told us "he took mercy on those who surrendered", but never said he allowed the Persian princess extensive freedoms after he conquered her father's lands. I have no idea how accurate that really is, but it's a pretty nice thing to do.
Finally, Cleitus. Who is hot.
Special section:
Special section dedicated to Angelina Jolie, the only ogle-able female and the best looking character in the entire movie. Of course, they compensated by making her freaky as heck. Olympias is sexy, but seriously weird. Notice how Jolie really shines when she's doing oddball roles? And I swear she got that campy accent from Kate Beckinsale in Van Helsing.
While the movie has strong Oedipal undercurrents that're pretty disturbing, Angelina Jolie makes it watchable. She looks like she's having fun in the movie, as opposed to Farrell's hangdog look.
Note: Picture captions from top to bottom: Alexander movie poster; Olympias and a young Alexander; Alexander at the Battle of Gaugamela; Alexander marrying Roxane; last battle scene in the movie (which shows Alexander to be a prety stupid leader); Haphaestion; Olympias, Philip and Alexander, the happy family; Angelina Jolie as Olympias.
Most pictures taken from this site.
December 02, 2004
How to Eat a Mangosteen
Yesterday, after a debilitating day in college, I came back home only to slump on the sofa like a backbone-less amoeba. After spending about half an hour staring into space while my brother performed calisthenics (he's trying to lose some weight) around me, I finally summoned enough energy to drag myself to the bathroom to wash my face.
I know, you're probably thinking, 'Gee Saff, a shower would be much better, don'cha think?'
Time for another juicy little tidbit about myself. I do not shower unless it's dark, or somewhere close to the hour when the sun sets. I don't know why, it's just a thing I like to do, like drowning kittens and posting soft porn pics.
Anyway, after washing my face, I suddenly had enough energy to feel reasonably responsive towards food, so I ambled into the kitchen and opened the fridge to find...2 dried lemons. They were fresh when I bought them. :p
Now I was hungry. It says something about the way my mind is wired, eh? I don't feel hungry unless there's no food. In the event of a war, I'll be the first to surrender. Just gimme food.
That's about enough off-topicness, I think. I looked around the kitchen and spotted some mangosteens my dad bought when he came home with durians 2 days ago. Mangosteens make my front teeth brown after eating about a kg of them, but heck, I'm at home and the only people who can see me are the ones who saw me when I was throwing up in the toilet, so all was good.
So, back to the topic.
Step 1: Get a big basin thingy and unload all the mangosteens from the orange plastic bag. Fill basin with water and wait for all manner of creepy crawlies to emerge from those innocent-looking mangosteens. If you're the type who gets antsy (heh) when dealing with insects, get someone to do this for you.
Step 2: Empty basin containing carcasses of ants/grasshoppers/misc insects, and drain the fruits. Now, under running water, carefully remove the stem of the mangosteen and the poufy 'skirt' thing surrounding the stem.
Bear in mind that the people in white coats don't actually call it a 'skirt', but I'm not a fruitologist and it looks like a poufy skirt to me, so that's what it'll be called from here on. For educational purposes, I have included a simple colour-coded sketch for clarification purposes. Sorta like Eating Mangosteens for Dummies. The area you need to remove is green in colour.
If you think ants drown, think again. Some of these little buggers are hardy creatures and won't die unless you fire a torrent of water at the speed of one of those water guns at them. Luckily, ants are small, so water from the tap would have the velocity of a water gun.
Step 3: Jump around and fling arms wildly to get rid of any straggling ants crawling on various parts of your anatomy.
Step 4: Set fruits out to dry, or wipe them dry if you're impatient like me. Make sure your hands are dry too before you start peeling. I'm not fastidious, it's just that mangosteen pulp doesn't react well to water.
Step 5: Select a reasonably large mangosteen (about the size of your palm, unless you're like King Kong and have really big hands) and leave the rest of the tiny ones to your unsuspecting family members. Hey, it's every man for himself when it comes to mangosteens. If you're really desperate I suppose you could choose to eat the small ones as well, but they're really not worth the trouble.
Step 6: Pretend you're begging for money. Instead of money, hold the mangosteen between your hands and place your thumbs on the opposite side of the side the rest of your fingers are touching.
Wow, I suck at descriptions. Pictures to the rescue! Unfortunately, I can't draw for shit either. :(
The orange things are where your thumbs are supposed to be placed. The rest of your hand is cradling the mangosteen. Since everyone really knows how to eat mangosteens, I'll just pretend my last 2 paragraphs made sense and move on.
Step 7: Apply a downward and outward pressure on your thumbs until the skin of the mangosteen begins to crack. Then lighten pressure so you don't completely crush the thing and waste a perfectly good, juicy mangosteen.
While tempted to eat the fruit directly from the pulpy purple layer, it's always better to remove the white flesh to check for signs of the icky yellow stuff that tastes really bitter, or bruises on the flesh itself.
You don't want to end up with a mouthful of bile, and mangosteens don't bruise.
Now that the lesson is done, what's a Saffron post without embarassing stuff? I once opened a mangosteen without washing it first, and ate the flesh directly from the pulpy purpleness. Not only did the fruit explode with legions of black ants, the flesh was brown, which I didn't see because I was too busy stuffing it into my mouth.
Sometimes over-excitedness doesn't pay off.
I know, you're probably thinking, 'Gee Saff, a shower would be much better, don'cha think?'
Time for another juicy little tidbit about myself. I do not shower unless it's dark, or somewhere close to the hour when the sun sets. I don't know why, it's just a thing I like to do, like drowning kittens and posting soft porn pics.
Anyway, after washing my face, I suddenly had enough energy to feel reasonably responsive towards food, so I ambled into the kitchen and opened the fridge to find...2 dried lemons. They were fresh when I bought them. :p
Now I was hungry. It says something about the way my mind is wired, eh? I don't feel hungry unless there's no food. In the event of a war, I'll be the first to surrender. Just gimme food.
That's about enough off-topicness, I think. I looked around the kitchen and spotted some mangosteens my dad bought when he came home with durians 2 days ago. Mangosteens make my front teeth brown after eating about a kg of them, but heck, I'm at home and the only people who can see me are the ones who saw me when I was throwing up in the toilet, so all was good.
So, back to the topic.
Step 1: Get a big basin thingy and unload all the mangosteens from the orange plastic bag. Fill basin with water and wait for all manner of creepy crawlies to emerge from those innocent-looking mangosteens. If you're the type who gets antsy (heh) when dealing with insects, get someone to do this for you.
Step 2: Empty basin containing carcasses of ants/grasshoppers/misc insects, and drain the fruits. Now, under running water, carefully remove the stem of the mangosteen and the poufy 'skirt' thing surrounding the stem.
Bear in mind that the people in white coats don't actually call it a 'skirt', but I'm not a fruitologist and it looks like a poufy skirt to me, so that's what it'll be called from here on. For educational purposes, I have included a simple colour-coded sketch for clarification purposes. Sorta like Eating Mangosteens for Dummies. The area you need to remove is green in colour.
If you think ants drown, think again. Some of these little buggers are hardy creatures and won't die unless you fire a torrent of water at the speed of one of those water guns at them. Luckily, ants are small, so water from the tap would have the velocity of a water gun.
Step 3: Jump around and fling arms wildly to get rid of any straggling ants crawling on various parts of your anatomy.
Step 4: Set fruits out to dry, or wipe them dry if you're impatient like me. Make sure your hands are dry too before you start peeling. I'm not fastidious, it's just that mangosteen pulp doesn't react well to water.
Step 5: Select a reasonably large mangosteen (about the size of your palm, unless you're like King Kong and have really big hands) and leave the rest of the tiny ones to your unsuspecting family members. Hey, it's every man for himself when it comes to mangosteens. If you're really desperate I suppose you could choose to eat the small ones as well, but they're really not worth the trouble.
Step 6: Pretend you're begging for money. Instead of money, hold the mangosteen between your hands and place your thumbs on the opposite side of the side the rest of your fingers are touching.
Wow, I suck at descriptions. Pictures to the rescue! Unfortunately, I can't draw for shit either. :(
The orange things are where your thumbs are supposed to be placed. The rest of your hand is cradling the mangosteen. Since everyone really knows how to eat mangosteens, I'll just pretend my last 2 paragraphs made sense and move on.
Step 7: Apply a downward and outward pressure on your thumbs until the skin of the mangosteen begins to crack. Then lighten pressure so you don't completely crush the thing and waste a perfectly good, juicy mangosteen.
While tempted to eat the fruit directly from the pulpy purple layer, it's always better to remove the white flesh to check for signs of the icky yellow stuff that tastes really bitter, or bruises on the flesh itself.
You don't want to end up with a mouthful of bile, and mangosteens don't bruise.
Now that the lesson is done, what's a Saffron post without embarassing stuff? I once opened a mangosteen without washing it first, and ate the flesh directly from the pulpy purpleness. Not only did the fruit explode with legions of black ants, the flesh was brown, which I didn't see because I was too busy stuffing it into my mouth.
Sometimes over-excitedness doesn't pay off.
November 30, 2004
Reflections, Part 2
In the spirit of reflecting about my life, I've decided to come clean and confess.
Some of you who live in the KL area would be familiar with a place called Little Genting. It refers to a particular stretch of road on a hilltop in the Cheras area and is a popular (only at night) hangout for Ah Lians and their el cheapo bastard boyfriends who can't afford a decent room anywhere.
Since there's no public transport to the place, these Ah Lians and their boyfriends have to resort to driving, which does 3 things for them. One, it's a convenient way to travel because the Malaysian public transport system is notoriously unreliable. Two, Ah Lian's boyfriend gets to show off his bright yellow souped-up Satria GTi to his homies (pretend it's yellow). Three, Satria GTi doubles as a very uncomfortable place to boff, but then again when the going gets tough, the tough have to boff somewhere, and that would be in banana-yellow Satrias.
This place is particularly popular during festivals where there will be a display of fireworks (cos of the high vantage point) and during Valentine's Day (presumably also because of the high vantage point).
On a Valentine's Day when I was still in secondary school, me and my then-single friends snuck up to Little Genting to have a look-see around the area. You know, just to have a look at the spectacular view of the KL skyline at night, take some pictures, enjoy the slightly cooler night air, and to show off our ancient Adidas sweaters (the one worn by Ben Stiller) before they were popularised by hip-hop.
Oh alright, so we went in the hopes of witnessing some real-life boffing action, big deal. We were young, we were curious, and the quest for knowledge is a never-ending pursuit. *winkity wink*
Unfortunately for us, the car windows were pretty steamed up, so we were disappointed. Because I tend to do stupid things when I'm bored, I removed the film from the camera and sneaked up to a car that's stress-testing its suspensions. I then hit the 'take picture' button and the flash went off. Immediately the car stopped bouncing. Immediately, yours truly cast Run Like Heck, her friends following in her wake.
To this day I have no idea who are the people in that car or whether they've hired guys named Vin the Sin* and Milo 2-Fingers* to nail my kneecaps to the floorboards. If you've been to Little Genting and have had a similar thing happen to you, bear in mind that I'm not the least bit original and probably there've been like 30 other people who've pulled this off before.
Rest assured, there was no film in the camera. I wouldn't wanna see you naked, trust me.
Notes
Ah Lian: girls with dyed blonde hair in tank tops and either a pair of short tight pants or a short tight skirt. Variations have been known to prowl around town area, in tacky J-Pop fashion and/or pseudo-punk outfits. Common denominator is dyed hair.
My hair is dyed too. :p
If you're wondering how Milo 2-Fingers manages to nail the kneecaps of innocent little girlies to the floorboards, 2 fingers actually refers to the number of unbroken fingers left on his victims. Vin the Sin is just tacky. *grins* Both monikers courtesy of Arion's lunch-less mind.
Some of you who live in the KL area would be familiar with a place called Little Genting. It refers to a particular stretch of road on a hilltop in the Cheras area and is a popular (only at night) hangout for Ah Lians and their el cheapo bastard boyfriends who can't afford a decent room anywhere.
Since there's no public transport to the place, these Ah Lians and their boyfriends have to resort to driving, which does 3 things for them. One, it's a convenient way to travel because the Malaysian public transport system is notoriously unreliable. Two, Ah Lian's boyfriend gets to show off his bright yellow souped-up Satria GTi to his homies (pretend it's yellow). Three, Satria GTi doubles as a very uncomfortable place to boff, but then again when the going gets tough, the tough have to boff somewhere, and that would be in banana-yellow Satrias.
This place is particularly popular during festivals where there will be a display of fireworks (cos of the high vantage point) and during Valentine's Day (presumably also because of the high vantage point).
On a Valentine's Day when I was still in secondary school, me and my then-single friends snuck up to Little Genting to have a look-see around the area. You know, just to have a look at the spectacular view of the KL skyline at night, take some pictures, enjoy the slightly cooler night air, and to show off our ancient Adidas sweaters (the one worn by Ben Stiller) before they were popularised by hip-hop.
Oh alright, so we went in the hopes of witnessing some real-life boffing action, big deal. We were young, we were curious, and the quest for knowledge is a never-ending pursuit. *winkity wink*
Unfortunately for us, the car windows were pretty steamed up, so we were disappointed. Because I tend to do stupid things when I'm bored, I removed the film from the camera and sneaked up to a car that's stress-testing its suspensions. I then hit the 'take picture' button and the flash went off. Immediately the car stopped bouncing. Immediately, yours truly cast Run Like Heck, her friends following in her wake.
To this day I have no idea who are the people in that car or whether they've hired guys named Vin the Sin* and Milo 2-Fingers* to nail my kneecaps to the floorboards. If you've been to Little Genting and have had a similar thing happen to you, bear in mind that I'm not the least bit original and probably there've been like 30 other people who've pulled this off before.
Rest assured, there was no film in the camera. I wouldn't wanna see you naked, trust me.
Notes
Ah Lian: girls with dyed blonde hair in tank tops and either a pair of short tight pants or a short tight skirt. Variations have been known to prowl around town area, in tacky J-Pop fashion and/or pseudo-punk outfits. Common denominator is dyed hair.
My hair is dyed too. :p
If you're wondering how Milo 2-Fingers manages to nail the kneecaps of innocent little girlies to the floorboards, 2 fingers actually refers to the number of unbroken fingers left on his victims. Vin the Sin is just tacky. *grins* Both monikers courtesy of Arion's lunch-less mind.
Reflections
I'm grateful to my parents for paying for my higher education, and for supporting me since I was born, not only giving me the things I need, but the things I want as well.
I'm grateful to my parents for never laying the guilt on me. Whatever guilt I feel now is because I understand what my parents went through when I was still a kid, not because they keep reminding me how much they did for me. It's when people do things for me without telling me that I get really KOed inside.
I'm grateful to my parents for making sure there's enough food in the fridge that I can choose what to have for my lunch, and for stocking the fridge with fruits so that we don't die of constipation.
I'm grateful to my parents for letting me go shopping with their money, and for giving me a credit card and trusting that I will not overspend.
I'm grateful to my parents for sometimes cleaning my room, even though it doesn't really look very messy to me.
I'm grateful to my parents for dropping things to pick me up when I'm stranded someplace, and for driving me out to places that I want to go even though I have my driver's license.
I'm grateful to my parents for worrying about my wellbeing at all times, and for getting less sleep than me when I'm sick cos they keep getting up to check on me. (doesn't help that my immune system is lousy. Conked from too many courses of antibiotics, bleh)
I'm grateful to my parents for not loving me any less because I was impatient with them and used a snappy tone of voice when speaking to them. I’m guilty of taking people for granted.
I'm grateful to my granma for cooking our meals, and for trying to make sure we get all the nutrition we need.
My granma nags me to drink more water, eat more fruits, don't eat maggi mee, wear more conservative clothes and to get my ears pierced. I don't like it when she compares me with other, prettier girls and never praises me for my achievements, but then again just because someone doesn't love me the way I want them to love me doesn't mean they don't love me at all.
When my relationship with my ex ended, I was hurting inside, but I think my parents hurted more.
I was tickled to receive an SMS from my mom saying that they were proud of me and my brother because we got good results. I'm realistic enough to know that I didn't outwork anyone to get the results that I got. Everything that I have now was given to me.
Back when I was a kid, I used to ask my mom what she wanted me to become when I grew up. She always told me to be whatever I wanted to be. At that time, all my friends' parents told them what to do, so I was mightily pissed at my mom for not wanting her daughter to do anything. It was only in the last few years of my life that I understood what she really meant.
Whatever wrong decisions I make, and however low I may end up in life, I know for sure that there will always be support from my family, and I am thankful for that.
I'm thankful to my parents for showing me what unconditional love really means.
Note:
I put this here in case I meet an untimely death, so that one of you can show this to my parents.
Hmmm...Is there such a thing as a timely death?
I'm grateful to my parents for never laying the guilt on me. Whatever guilt I feel now is because I understand what my parents went through when I was still a kid, not because they keep reminding me how much they did for me. It's when people do things for me without telling me that I get really KOed inside.
I'm grateful to my parents for making sure there's enough food in the fridge that I can choose what to have for my lunch, and for stocking the fridge with fruits so that we don't die of constipation.
I'm grateful to my parents for letting me go shopping with their money, and for giving me a credit card and trusting that I will not overspend.
I'm grateful to my parents for sometimes cleaning my room, even though it doesn't really look very messy to me.
I'm grateful to my parents for dropping things to pick me up when I'm stranded someplace, and for driving me out to places that I want to go even though I have my driver's license.
I'm grateful to my parents for worrying about my wellbeing at all times, and for getting less sleep than me when I'm sick cos they keep getting up to check on me. (doesn't help that my immune system is lousy. Conked from too many courses of antibiotics, bleh)
I'm grateful to my parents for not loving me any less because I was impatient with them and used a snappy tone of voice when speaking to them. I’m guilty of taking people for granted.
I'm grateful to my granma for cooking our meals, and for trying to make sure we get all the nutrition we need.
My granma nags me to drink more water, eat more fruits, don't eat maggi mee, wear more conservative clothes and to get my ears pierced. I don't like it when she compares me with other, prettier girls and never praises me for my achievements, but then again just because someone doesn't love me the way I want them to love me doesn't mean they don't love me at all.
When my relationship with my ex ended, I was hurting inside, but I think my parents hurted more.
I was tickled to receive an SMS from my mom saying that they were proud of me and my brother because we got good results. I'm realistic enough to know that I didn't outwork anyone to get the results that I got. Everything that I have now was given to me.
Back when I was a kid, I used to ask my mom what she wanted me to become when I grew up. She always told me to be whatever I wanted to be. At that time, all my friends' parents told them what to do, so I was mightily pissed at my mom for not wanting her daughter to do anything. It was only in the last few years of my life that I understood what she really meant.
Whatever wrong decisions I make, and however low I may end up in life, I know for sure that there will always be support from my family, and I am thankful for that.
I'm thankful to my parents for showing me what unconditional love really means.
Note:
I put this here in case I meet an untimely death, so that one of you can show this to my parents.
Hmmm...Is there such a thing as a timely death?
November 28, 2004
Woke up at 8.30 this morning with a pounding headache. I'm a wuss, I can't handle 6 periods of classes in a day. I used to be able to do it in APIIT, but that was back when all we ever did in class was chat about F4 (they were popular back then) and munch chips while the lecturers did what all lecturers do best: talk to themselves. Some even manage to doze off themselves in the process, don't that beat all?
Normally, I would cackle maniacally like a bunch of furies on valium when told to wake up before noon, but then this was a chance in a lifetime to watch The Incredibles with a whole bunch of hyperactive little kids, so who could say no to that?
Actually, my mom's company organised a little family day thingy and we got cheap tickets. RM4 per person and that includes a breakfast of 1901 sausage rolls. The downside was 1)it was a 10.30 show, hence all the waking up early, and 2)the venue's in Midvalley. I avoid places like Midvalley, KLCC and 1 Utama like the plague on weekends and holidays. Today is a combo of 2. I feel filthy for going against my principles.
As birthdays are a time for self-reflection, I found out something about myself that I never suspected before. Okay, so some of you are laughing after reading the first half of that sentence. FYI, drunken debauchery, projectile vomiting and unholy fornication with various inanimate objects during said drunken-ness is normal and acceptable when one celebrates one's 21st birthday, thank you.
Anyway, for the revelation, *cue suspenseful music* I feel very self-conscious eating sausages in public. Yeah, that's what I was thinking about while I was munching my breakfast at the big round thingy outside the cinema entrance. Hmmm, maybe I need to schedule an appointment with my therapist...
Movie was great, blah blah blah no review here because every blog already has one. Bottomline, I liked it, as I liked every Pixar movie. The experience was bad, cos whoever organised this obviously made the mistake of thinking that all kids like cartoons, hence all cartoons are for kids. Pity the poor 3-year old in front of me who couldn't help jumping around in his seat cos he wasn't interested in the movie. Pity still the poor girl sitting behind him who had to crane her neck to see the screen every time the kid decided to re-enact in real life and real time whatever Mr Parr did in make-believe land.
I wonder what kind of parent brings a 3 year-old kid to cinemas. They have an attention span of like, what, 3 seconds? If you're gonna bring a young kid like that to the cinema, at least have the decency to sedate him so that the rest of us can enjoy the show in relative peace and quiet. Sheesh...
After the show, we went for a snack at Dave's Deli, after which we left Midvalley at around 1.40pm and lo and behold, the parking sections were blocked again. How fun. When we got home, I took a little catnap and woke up at 6. Ahem, the word 'catnap' has a different meaning for everyone, ya?
My parents then took me out for my birthday dinner, which was a meal at Hy Tian Restaurant in Serdang. This place is highly recommended, and we eat there at least twice a month cos:
a)the food's good,
b)the service is impeccable (this is the only place I would even consider handing over a RM10 tip on top of the service charge)
c)it gives a whole new meaning to the term 'fast food' (3 minutes after we ordered everything was on the table except for the fish)
d)it's reasonably priced for a restaurant
We had Lai Yau Sotong, lotus root and snowpeas fried with macadamia nuts, Toong Bo Yuk, some beancurd dish and deep-fried fish with a Thai sauce thingy and sour mangoes. I'm not gonna translate the names of the dishes cos if I knew the names in English I would've used them. :p The bill came to about RM80 plus drinks.
I'll try to find the address and post it here tomorrow when I can find stuff without squinting. Be forewarned though, call ahead on weekends to make sure there're available tables. It can get very packed, especially during wedding months.
After that I went out to Quan's Something Or Other Cafe (that's not really the name. I forgot to look at the signboard before leaving the place) in Pandan Indah with my friends and had a very thick, very good coffee milkshake that tastes like Coffee Bean's Ice Blended drinks. Replenished my depository of blog topics and took some pics.
Left at 12.30. Something's keeping me awake, which explains updating at the unholy hour of 2.35, and I suspect it's either the catnap or the coffee shake. It's more than likely both.
In other news, link section has been revamped because I was thinking of chocolates and bananas while choosing colours from my palette. I originally went for a pyschedelic hot pink, lime and purple combo (that's your cue to shudder), but then got hungry and thought of food, so tadaa.
Edit: And I wonder who's actually gonna be reading this thing in its entirety. No more about-my-day blogs in the future unless I'm caffeinated and insomniated, and start inventing random words because I'm too lazy to look in the dictionary.
Normally, I would cackle maniacally like a bunch of furies on valium when told to wake up before noon, but then this was a chance in a lifetime to watch The Incredibles with a whole bunch of hyperactive little kids, so who could say no to that?
Actually, my mom's company organised a little family day thingy and we got cheap tickets. RM4 per person and that includes a breakfast of 1901 sausage rolls. The downside was 1)it was a 10.30 show, hence all the waking up early, and 2)the venue's in Midvalley. I avoid places like Midvalley, KLCC and 1 Utama like the plague on weekends and holidays. Today is a combo of 2. I feel filthy for going against my principles.
As birthdays are a time for self-reflection, I found out something about myself that I never suspected before. Okay, so some of you are laughing after reading the first half of that sentence. FYI, drunken debauchery, projectile vomiting and unholy fornication with various inanimate objects during said drunken-ness is normal and acceptable when one celebrates one's 21st birthday, thank you.
Anyway, for the revelation, *cue suspenseful music* I feel very self-conscious eating sausages in public. Yeah, that's what I was thinking about while I was munching my breakfast at the big round thingy outside the cinema entrance. Hmmm, maybe I need to schedule an appointment with my therapist...
Movie was great, blah blah blah no review here because every blog already has one. Bottomline, I liked it, as I liked every Pixar movie. The experience was bad, cos whoever organised this obviously made the mistake of thinking that all kids like cartoons, hence all cartoons are for kids. Pity the poor 3-year old in front of me who couldn't help jumping around in his seat cos he wasn't interested in the movie. Pity still the poor girl sitting behind him who had to crane her neck to see the screen every time the kid decided to re-enact in real life and real time whatever Mr Parr did in make-believe land.
I wonder what kind of parent brings a 3 year-old kid to cinemas. They have an attention span of like, what, 3 seconds? If you're gonna bring a young kid like that to the cinema, at least have the decency to sedate him so that the rest of us can enjoy the show in relative peace and quiet. Sheesh...
After the show, we went for a snack at Dave's Deli, after which we left Midvalley at around 1.40pm and lo and behold, the parking sections were blocked again. How fun. When we got home, I took a little catnap and woke up at 6. Ahem, the word 'catnap' has a different meaning for everyone, ya?
My parents then took me out for my birthday dinner, which was a meal at Hy Tian Restaurant in Serdang. This place is highly recommended, and we eat there at least twice a month cos:
a)the food's good,
b)the service is impeccable (this is the only place I would even consider handing over a RM10 tip on top of the service charge)
c)it gives a whole new meaning to the term 'fast food' (3 minutes after we ordered everything was on the table except for the fish)
d)it's reasonably priced for a restaurant
We had Lai Yau Sotong, lotus root and snowpeas fried with macadamia nuts, Toong Bo Yuk, some beancurd dish and deep-fried fish with a Thai sauce thingy and sour mangoes. I'm not gonna translate the names of the dishes cos if I knew the names in English I would've used them. :p The bill came to about RM80 plus drinks.
I'll try to find the address and post it here tomorrow when I can find stuff without squinting. Be forewarned though, call ahead on weekends to make sure there're available tables. It can get very packed, especially during wedding months.
After that I went out to Quan's Something Or Other Cafe (that's not really the name. I forgot to look at the signboard before leaving the place) in Pandan Indah with my friends and had a very thick, very good coffee milkshake that tastes like Coffee Bean's Ice Blended drinks. Replenished my depository of blog topics and took some pics.
Left at 12.30. Something's keeping me awake, which explains updating at the unholy hour of 2.35, and I suspect it's either the catnap or the coffee shake. It's more than likely both.
In other news, link section has been revamped because I was thinking of chocolates and bananas while choosing colours from my palette. I originally went for a pyschedelic hot pink, lime and purple combo (that's your cue to shudder), but then got hungry and thought of food, so tadaa.
Edit: And I wonder who's actually gonna be reading this thing in its entirety. No more about-my-day blogs in the future unless I'm caffeinated and insomniated, and start inventing random words because I'm too lazy to look in the dictionary.
November 27, 2004
November's Child
I had my first surprise birthday bash today.
Dr Irene organised a get-together thingy today, and from what I gather, the purpose is for the 'juniors' to be able to identify who the 'seniors' are and leech notes and photocopied books from us. While we were walking from the lift area to the venue, Angela was very fidgety and excited, so of course being the sleuth that I am, I immediately noticed her odd behavior and wondered if there was anything wrong. She said no.
Sleuth did not have enough sleep the night before, so she just left it at that.
After the get-together, during which I greedily stuffed 4 curry puffs into my face and chatted with a girl whose name I already forgot, we all elected to pretend we were taking Marketing with the rest of the gang and cabut from the party, which was getting a little awkward at the time anyway. Hey, just because I'm in Mass Comm doesn't mean I'm a social butterfly. Stop judging me. :p
We then adjourned to the halal cafe and ordered drinks. When they arrived, Helvi did as well, and it was then that Angela brought out the cake and said Happy Birthday Saffron! Of course she didn't exactly say Saffron, cos that's not my real name, but you get the gist.
Because November's child is full of woe, just as the cake was nicely presented, the heavens opened and decided to cry. On the day that I was born. I just hope that those were tears of joy, or else I'm royally screwed. I'll refrain from going into detail here because it's my birthday and I wanna look good.
We then shifted into the cafe itself and into a secluded corner, where I was further embarassed because the dafe was full and they started singing me a birthday song. In the grand scale of things, I guess it wasn't embarassing at all. we then divided the cake into 9 pieces and happily chomped away.
We even made it in time for class.
In case you're fooled by the flippant style of writing, here're my honest thoughts. I felt overwhelmed. No one ever celebrates my birthday with me unless I invite them out, which is not a bad thing. It's just that this is new for me. These are people I've known for 5 months. Not an incredibly long time in the Friendship Scale, and not only did they remember my birthday, they also took the trouble to actually buy a cake and transport it to college, and planned the whole thing.
They even sang in public.
Thanks to Angela, Jun, Helvi, Geogina, Novi, Siew Eng, Fara, and Sheena for being there, eating the cake and just putting up with me in general. I'll post pictures when I get them from Ange and Geo.
Notes
cabut: Technique #36 in Chinese Martial Arts, which means, in layman terms, to get the heck out of the place you're currently in by utilising your mad ninja skillz0r.
Ninja's are from Japan, btw, not China.
Dr Irene organised a get-together thingy today, and from what I gather, the purpose is for the 'juniors' to be able to identify who the 'seniors' are and leech notes and photocopied books from us. While we were walking from the lift area to the venue, Angela was very fidgety and excited, so of course being the sleuth that I am, I immediately noticed her odd behavior and wondered if there was anything wrong. She said no.
Sleuth did not have enough sleep the night before, so she just left it at that.
After the get-together, during which I greedily stuffed 4 curry puffs into my face and chatted with a girl whose name I already forgot, we all elected to pretend we were taking Marketing with the rest of the gang and cabut from the party, which was getting a little awkward at the time anyway. Hey, just because I'm in Mass Comm doesn't mean I'm a social butterfly. Stop judging me. :p
We then adjourned to the halal cafe and ordered drinks. When they arrived, Helvi did as well, and it was then that Angela brought out the cake and said Happy Birthday Saffron! Of course she didn't exactly say Saffron, cos that's not my real name, but you get the gist.
Because November's child is full of woe, just as the cake was nicely presented, the heavens opened and decided to cry. On the day that I was born. I just hope that those were tears of joy, or else I'm royally screwed. I'll refrain from going into detail here because it's my birthday and I wanna look good.
We then shifted into the cafe itself and into a secluded corner, where I was further embarassed because the dafe was full and they started singing me a birthday song. In the grand scale of things, I guess it wasn't embarassing at all. we then divided the cake into 9 pieces and happily chomped away.
We even made it in time for class.
In case you're fooled by the flippant style of writing, here're my honest thoughts. I felt overwhelmed. No one ever celebrates my birthday with me unless I invite them out, which is not a bad thing. It's just that this is new for me. These are people I've known for 5 months. Not an incredibly long time in the Friendship Scale, and not only did they remember my birthday, they also took the trouble to actually buy a cake and transport it to college, and planned the whole thing.
They even sang in public.
Thanks to Angela, Jun, Helvi, Geogina, Novi, Siew Eng, Fara, and Sheena for being there, eating the cake and just putting up with me in general. I'll post pictures when I get them from Ange and Geo.
Notes
cabut: Technique #36 in Chinese Martial Arts, which means, in layman terms, to get the heck out of the place you're currently in by utilising your mad ninja skillz0r.
Ninja's are from Japan, btw, not China.
November 26, 2004
I'm a woman, duh!
You'll notice changes again. I've been getting a lot of comments about my template, so much so that I've decided to do what every street-smart girl does in times of great need: fall back to neutrals.
Since the black template just sucks balls (heheheh, oops), I'm going with white. No more funky backgrounds, no more mould-like green, no more fresh lime, and more importantly, since the whole blogs' focus is on writing, no more fonts that hurts the eye.
Holy shit, I just took another look at my blog. I give it 2 days before I get bored with the whitewash and change my template again. Be thankful the name is the same. ;)
Since the black template just sucks balls (heheheh, oops), I'm going with white. No more funky backgrounds, no more mould-like green, no more fresh lime, and more importantly, since the whole blogs' focus is on writing, no more fonts that hurts the eye.
Holy shit, I just took another look at my blog. I give it 2 days before I get bored with the whitewash and change my template again. Be thankful the name is the same. ;)
November 25, 2004
Final update before I go to sleep
Brain is trundling along very slowly. 8-3 classes is not good for general health of brain. 3 heavy subjects in 1 semester is not good news. 5 hours of classes with no break in between is not conducive for information absorption. Hand-eye coordination is suffering.
No Half Life 2 for me, I guess.
7 hours straight for me tomorrow. I hope I make it through.
No Half Life 2 for me, I guess.
7 hours straight for me tomorrow. I hope I make it through.
Bartenders in my mailbox
Unlike most of the blind links I've put here before, this one's actually not dirty. Or rather, it's kinda dirty, but it's not exactly porn material. Just in case, the standard disclaimer, which you can read here, applies. Just replace the words 'movie clip' with website and you're fine.
Linkity link link link
This is the closest you'll ever come to having a woman actually at your beck and call, to pour you beer when you order her to and to dance for you as and when you wish.
My tries: dance, pillow fight, banana, fight, shower, strip.
Linkity link link link
This is the closest you'll ever come to having a woman actually at your beck and call, to pour you beer when you order her to and to dance for you as and when you wish.
My tries: dance, pillow fight, banana, fight, shower, strip.
12 step programmes and 9 cocktails
:: ...Sandstar...Manon...Ryujin... ::
We are conscientious students. We being yours truly, Angela the Class Rep and Jun the Big Boobed Chick. We were on our way to photocopy some notes, notes which weren't compulsory, I might add. (See my point about conscientiousness?)
As the shop was located at the furthest point possible from the block where the School of Comm is located, we had trudge through the foyer and, in the process, pass by the cool-looking School of Hotel Management. As luck would have it, there're a bunch of students inside in their chef whites crowding around the bar.
Wouldn't it be nice to be a Hotel Management student? Think of all the wine you could drink under the pretext of 'studying'. God that'd be great. You'd be able to attend classes shit-faced drunk and tell the lecturers you're doing research to find the wine that goes best with Braised Pork Knuckles. Not a peep out of them cos you have a 'legitimate reason'. That'd be the life," sez Saffron, a bit wistfully.
Of course, at that moment IRL what I said was the first 2 sentences, cos Angela the Class Rep menyampuk-ed and said, "You like to drink a lot hor?"
Jun the Big Boobed Chick nodded. At least, I think she nodded. WTF was running through my brain at that point in time, so I couldn't really be sure. I'm sure she'll correct me when she reads this.
Anyway, understand this. These people have never been out with me before. At least, not in the debauched social context that would require the consumption of large amounts of alcohol, which would then result in the commencement of drunken break-dancing in public. And yet it didn't stop them from making rude (ahem) but pertinent observations about my lack of a social life.
So that little comment made me think a bit about the extent of my drinking, and I realised that both Angela the Class Rep and Jun the Big Boobed Chick are right. So now I am sitting here in front of the PC re-evaluating my priorities, and we all know what's the best way to do that. We blog. Or rather, I blog and you read, hopefully without causing your gag reflex to kick in.
:: ...Islander...SouthernCall...Southern... ::
So a few facts about my drinking:
I never order more than 1 alcoholic drink in pubs or bars if I'm with friends. I only let myself go and throw caution to the wind (in pubs and bars) if either my bro or my dad is with me. Notice the underlined bits? That means a hangover bad enough to make you curse whatever it was that possessed you to consume 2 kegs of beer while your head pounds to three different beats. To the water aficionados, the pounding doesn't stop even after downing 2 litres of water before crashing onto any hard surface.
(I actually managed to quote myself. How cool is that?)
Number 2, I like cocktails. There's something about a guy mixing your drinks for you that's just way cooler than me mixing beer and wine together myself at home. 'Sides, they're colourful, and there's nothing quite like ordering something pink and dainty like a Cosmo to piss of male friends.
Drinking at home is better than drinking at pubs/bars because there're no lecherous old men staring at you and trying to make slovenly advances in the hopes that they'd get lucky. Drool is not sexy, ugh. I don't have to put up with borderline retard pickup lines, which is always a good thing.
In continuance of the point above, I don't understand why people drink in places where there're strobe lights and lasers flashing fast enough to induce epilepsy. According to a stalker-weirdo who found my contact on the sidebar, "If people could actually see themselves dancing at clubs they might actually stop."
As woefully inadequate my experiences are, I'm inclined to agree with him though.
Yet more continuance. I like bars that're quiet enough for an actual conversation to be going on. None of that 'music' that's the equivalent of jamming a sharpened knitting needle into your ears. Some nice jazz music and servers who would leave you alone after pouring. Close friends who wouldn't kick your still-warm body into a ditch the minute you're inebriated enough to lurch off the sidewalk and onto incoming traffic.
As you can probably deduce from this (unless you are shit-faced drunk yourself, I'm well on the way to my very own 12-step programme. Gimme another 2 years.
:: ...Ryuha...Hikanzakura...Daiquiri... ::
Notes:
Menyampuk: interrupt.
As usual, quotes are verbatim and edited for grammar and spelling. It's a freaking IM chat, we don't have to get anal about spelling.
Cocktail pics from here.
November 23, 2004
The State of Many Hospitals
::Trip to Melaka with WS and Cindy::
Bottom row, third from left.
Embarassing moment #27: We actually did the whole touristy routine and got on one of those tacky, kitschy trishaws that mat sallehs get on and everyone was staring at us like we were a bunch of purple elephants who had just simultaneusly farted Dixie in tune.
Oh well, I'm only a tourist in Melaka once.
Note:
Mat sallehs: foreign devils, white man. Which means you, elcap. :)
Credit to Arion again for coming up with the title. Melaka has many hospitals and old people, according to him. I'm not commenting on the state (as in condition) of many hospitals. :p
November 21, 2004
Deep frying is so fun
What do you need?
A pan, loads of grease, fire and mystery meat.
Fire up your burners, dump grease into pan and wait till it boils. If you're feeling really macho and all, you might wanna let the grease bubble over and then just casually flick the gas control thingy to lower the flame, and impress the hell out of your girlfriend. Don't panic and flap your arms like a chicken flaps its wings or you'll ruin the whole effect.
Drop meat into pan and let it stay there for a while, preferably until thoroughly cooked. If you followed the beef recipe like I told you to, then it's definitely a good idea to shoot for well done this time around. Salmonella twice in a row is not fun, not even for closet masochists.
I like my feep fried food ultra crispy with bits of carbon sticking on the sides, so here's a pic of how it should look like if you did it right. If the skin doesn't bubble up and wrinkle, it shouldn't be called deep frying. *grins*
If you're thinking, 'I'm not stupid, I know how to deep fry, why the heck is she teaching me how to deep fry?', you're right. Actually, I was just bored and realised I haven't updated today. You've been suckered. This is just a cheap filler post because I can't think of anything more interesting than the sausages I'm eating.
To certain readers, especially those who're *cough cough* older than me and/or from GUM *cough cough*, get your mind out of the gutter.
A pan, loads of grease, fire and mystery meat.
Fire up your burners, dump grease into pan and wait till it boils. If you're feeling really macho and all, you might wanna let the grease bubble over and then just casually flick the gas control thingy to lower the flame, and impress the hell out of your girlfriend. Don't panic and flap your arms like a chicken flaps its wings or you'll ruin the whole effect.
Drop meat into pan and let it stay there for a while, preferably until thoroughly cooked. If you followed the beef recipe like I told you to, then it's definitely a good idea to shoot for well done this time around. Salmonella twice in a row is not fun, not even for closet masochists.
I like my feep fried food ultra crispy with bits of carbon sticking on the sides, so here's a pic of how it should look like if you did it right. If the skin doesn't bubble up and wrinkle, it shouldn't be called deep frying. *grins*
::Pink bowl is a relic from my toddler days. Yes, that's a mousepad my water's sitting on::
If you're thinking, 'I'm not stupid, I know how to deep fry, why the heck is she teaching me how to deep fry?', you're right. Actually, I was just bored and realised I haven't updated today. You've been suckered. This is just a cheap filler post because I can't think of anything more interesting than the sausages I'm eating.
To certain readers, especially those who're *cough cough* older than me and/or from GUM *cough cough*, get your mind out of the gutter.
November 20, 2004
Top 10 Reasons Why Tall Sucks
Know how people always complain about being short? You know, the "If only I were 8 inches taller I can be a supermodel", or the "That skirt would look soooo good on me if I were 4 inches taller" kinda comments?
Here's a blog from the other end of the spectrum.
Top 10 Reasons Why Tall Sucks:
One: Tall people can't properly fold their legs when they're in a bus, and usually end up with cramps by the time they reach their destination. As luck would have it, they get on at the first stop and get off at the second last. Because KL is famous for nothing if not its jams, that's an entire hour spent in a fucking contortionist's nightmare.
Two: Tall people are expected to perform oddjobs. Can't reach the top shelf? Holler for the resident Yao Ming. Aircon not switched on in classrooms? Resident Yao to the rescue again. Overhead projector not blinking? One look from the lecturer and YM trundles to the front of the classroom to poke at the projector with a ballpoint pen.
Three: Tall people are made to feel fat and unwieldy in clothing stores. Either everyone in KL is really petite (aka, as tall as Shaq's socks), or clothing stores like Comma are really catering for kids. I have never met anyone who can fit into a size S Comma top. Or bottom, for that matter. Snug clothes = sexy. Tight clothes = okay, depending on situation. Wrapping 'zhong' = NOTHX.
Four: Tall people, especially girls, have to put up with other people, especially guys, who like to stare, then veeery subtly glance down at said tall person's shoe, and upon finding that it is a pair of flats, immediately look up at the tall person again with a look of, how do I put this, utter and complete shock, on their faces. Paragraph contains both sarcasm and exaggeration, in that order.
Five: Tall people, especially girls, have to bite back comments like "Yeah, I'm taller than you, Napoleon," when they are being rudely stared at. Move along people, this is not a freakshow.
Six: Tall people are forced to the back of the classroom, and periodically get complaints from tuition mates if they happen to come early and bag a front seat. "Cannot see la", "Huiyo, blocking la, move la Beanstalk."
Seven: Tall people have to endure not-terribly-bright names like Beanstalk.
Eight: Tall people are reminded every day how tall they are. When they meet relatives they see once a year (on CNY) the relatives will go, "Wah, so tall liao. Big girl lor." When they meet someone new, they will invariably be greeted by a "Wah so tall!" response. Even if the new acquaintance doesn't verbally articulate "Wah so tall!", they're thinking it. Facial expressions are very telling.
Nine: Tall people make easier targets for snipers. Don't laugh. How easy would it be for a sniper to shoot someone whose head sticks up above the crowd? Unless you're a lousy sniper, in which case you have no business to be laying a hand on one of these babies in the first place, you wouldn't miss. Headshots would be so easy.
Ten: Tall people can't wear sexy high heels like these, these, these, these and these. Why? See above.
Now you know.
Notes:
Zhong = dumpling made of glutinuos rice and filled with various stuffings. Wrapped with leaves and tied up with strings, resulting in weird protuberances where the raffia is tied tight. Used to feed fish on Zhong festival to prevent said fish from feasting on a dead (circa 1k years ago, roughly) scholar's body.
First top 10 list where I've actually had 10 points to talk about. Must be a record or something.
Here's a blog from the other end of the spectrum.
Top 10 Reasons Why Tall Sucks:
One: Tall people can't properly fold their legs when they're in a bus, and usually end up with cramps by the time they reach their destination. As luck would have it, they get on at the first stop and get off at the second last. Because KL is famous for nothing if not its jams, that's an entire hour spent in a fucking contortionist's nightmare.
Two: Tall people are expected to perform oddjobs. Can't reach the top shelf? Holler for the resident Yao Ming. Aircon not switched on in classrooms? Resident Yao to the rescue again. Overhead projector not blinking? One look from the lecturer and YM trundles to the front of the classroom to poke at the projector with a ballpoint pen.
Three: Tall people are made to feel fat and unwieldy in clothing stores. Either everyone in KL is really petite (aka, as tall as Shaq's socks), or clothing stores like Comma are really catering for kids. I have never met anyone who can fit into a size S Comma top. Or bottom, for that matter. Snug clothes = sexy. Tight clothes = okay, depending on situation. Wrapping 'zhong' = NOTHX.
Four: Tall people, especially girls, have to put up with other people, especially guys, who like to stare, then veeery subtly glance down at said tall person's shoe, and upon finding that it is a pair of flats, immediately look up at the tall person again with a look of, how do I put this, utter and complete shock, on their faces. Paragraph contains both sarcasm and exaggeration, in that order.
Five: Tall people, especially girls, have to bite back comments like "Yeah, I'm taller than you, Napoleon," when they are being rudely stared at. Move along people, this is not a freakshow.
Six: Tall people are forced to the back of the classroom, and periodically get complaints from tuition mates if they happen to come early and bag a front seat. "Cannot see la", "Huiyo, blocking la, move la Beanstalk."
Seven: Tall people have to endure not-terribly-bright names like Beanstalk.
Eight: Tall people are reminded every day how tall they are. When they meet relatives they see once a year (on CNY) the relatives will go, "Wah, so tall liao. Big girl lor." When they meet someone new, they will invariably be greeted by a "Wah so tall!" response. Even if the new acquaintance doesn't verbally articulate "Wah so tall!", they're thinking it. Facial expressions are very telling.
Nine: Tall people make easier targets for snipers. Don't laugh. How easy would it be for a sniper to shoot someone whose head sticks up above the crowd? Unless you're a lousy sniper, in which case you have no business to be laying a hand on one of these babies in the first place, you wouldn't miss. Headshots would be so easy.
Ten: Tall people can't wear sexy high heels like these, these, these, these and these. Why? See above.
Now you know.
Notes:
Zhong = dumpling made of glutinuos rice and filled with various stuffings. Wrapped with leaves and tied up with strings, resulting in weird protuberances where the raffia is tied tight. Used to feed fish on Zhong festival to prevent said fish from feasting on a dead (circa 1k years ago, roughly) scholar's body.
First top 10 list where I've actually had 10 points to talk about. Must be a record or something.
November 19, 2004
gedesorganiseerd
I'm a very disorganised person, as you can probably deduce from the 'everywhere' ramblings in this blog, as well as the rather messy sidebar. If you know me IRL, haha, no need to say anything liao lor.
Anyways, I just realised that there was no system in the way I organise my stuff, so in a fit of industriousness today, I decided to revamp my link section in alphabetical order. It looks cool now. :)
If you're linked and you don't like the name of the link I used, please tell me. I only like to offend people if they go purple in the face when I do it. It's very amusing. *grins*
Anyway, someone whom I never thought I'd be chatting with in a million years, who shall remain un-named until I'm sure she won't be fired from her job for fraternising with the enemy, so to speak...erm...
Okay, I just lost track of my sentence. A million thanks to my English teacher in Standard 3 who said Keep It Short and Sweet (KISS). Not that I actually listened to her, but oh well.
See what I mean about 'everywhere'? Yes, I'm doing this on purpose, haha.
Anyway, that person who shall not be named sent me 2 links yesterday while we were chatting. This one has some seriously cool pictures. I spent about 3 hours there yesterday, until my bro kicked me out of my room for hogging the PC. The injustice of it all...*grumbles*
As cool as those pictures are, it's by a gweilo after all, and we all know foreign devils are bad for us, so here's a photoblog thingy that's local. I also spent about an hour here looking at the pretty pics, and it's all good.Have a looksee.
I'm going to Penang tomorrow cos it's been a number of days since my great-granma passed away, and according to tradition it's supposed to be some big day where everyone performs some sorta prayer for her. If things go as planned I'll be having some new pics to upload in the next few days.
Here's to hoping my motion-sickness doesn't decide to come looking for me tomorrow. Here's also to hoping you all have a nice day. :)
Title is in Dutch. It means 'disorganised'. I'm not very creative when it comes to title-ing my posts.
Anyways, I just realised that there was no system in the way I organise my stuff, so in a fit of industriousness today, I decided to revamp my link section in alphabetical order. It looks cool now. :)
If you're linked and you don't like the name of the link I used, please tell me. I only like to offend people if they go purple in the face when I do it. It's very amusing. *grins*
Anyway, someone whom I never thought I'd be chatting with in a million years, who shall remain un-named until I'm sure she won't be fired from her job for fraternising with the enemy, so to speak...erm...
Okay, I just lost track of my sentence. A million thanks to my English teacher in Standard 3 who said Keep It Short and Sweet (KISS). Not that I actually listened to her, but oh well.
See what I mean about 'everywhere'? Yes, I'm doing this on purpose, haha.
Anyway, that person who shall not be named sent me 2 links yesterday while we were chatting. This one has some seriously cool pictures. I spent about 3 hours there yesterday, until my bro kicked me out of my room for hogging the PC. The injustice of it all...*grumbles*
As cool as those pictures are, it's by a gweilo after all, and we all know foreign devils are bad for us, so here's a photoblog thingy that's local. I also spent about an hour here looking at the pretty pics, and it's all good.Have a looksee.
I'm going to Penang tomorrow cos it's been a number of days since my great-granma passed away, and according to tradition it's supposed to be some big day where everyone performs some sorta prayer for her. If things go as planned I'll be having some new pics to upload in the next few days.
Here's to hoping my motion-sickness doesn't decide to come looking for me tomorrow. Here's also to hoping you all have a nice day. :)
Title is in Dutch. It means 'disorganised'. I'm not very creative when it comes to title-ing my posts.
November 18, 2004
Anarchist's Cookbook
Standard disclaimer: The following sequences are done by trained professionals under controlled situations. Children, please do not imitate the actions shown. Oh alright, if you really want to do it, make sure you tell your mom and dad first and get adult supervision.
Usual "I am absolved of all moral and legal responsibility blah blah blah" clause stands.
Beef Tenderloin with Red Wine Sauce
Kinda liked poking around the kitchen after my first pasta attempt, so this is the second dish I’m trying to cook competently. That means no setting the cooker hood on fire or accidentally spilling molten cheese onto my foot.
First of all, I’m told recipes start with a list of ingredients, so here goes.
You will need:
1 big pan, preferably of the non-stick variety if you’re ham-fisted like me.
1 thick-bottomed saucepan (how thick? If you whack someone over the head with that saucepan, you want to know for sure that it’s the guy’s head that will break, not the pan. That’s how thick)
1 large plate
*Beef tenderloin, thinly sliced
1 cup of red wine (cheap wine is only for incapacitating innocent girlies)
About a clove of finely-shopped garlic. More if you’re the bane of all vampires around.
A bowl of all-purpose flour
Pinch of dried thyme leaves/McCormick thyme
Butter, about 2 teaspoonfuls
Enough olive oil to coat your pan
Salt and pepper to taste
Sprigs of parsley for garnish
*I assume you’re like me and can’t recognise tenderloin of cow from, say, shank of cow, so just pick up the styrofoam box that says ‘beef tenderloin’ and you’ll be safe. If you do your shopping in markets, I guess you’ll just have to trust your butcher. If you can’t translate tenderloin to BM/Chinese/Tamil/Misc, sorry, I can’t help you. I don’t know what the heck it is either.
You’ll also notice that there’re no exact measurements on that list. That’s because I don’t have one of those nifty Pyrex cups with the measurements in both metric and imperial, so I just wing it and hope for the best.
How to:
Step 1: Make sure your plate is dry, then throw in flour, thyme, salt and pepper. Mix around with fingers until it’s all more or less blended together. Heat pan on burner, but keep fire on medium heat max. If you’re a slow worker then put it on low, cos you don’t want to leave permanent burn marks your mom’s expensive non-stick pan and get needlessly screamed at.
Step 2: Dip beef slices into the mixture of flour and make sure both sides are coated. Shake off excess flour. The goal is to saute the buggers, so repeat until you have enough beef slices to fit comfortably into your pan. The point is not to cram as many slices as you can, but to make sure that each slice lies flat on the pan when it’s sautéing.
If you really have a huge pan, or a small amount of beef, then you can just tip all the meat into the flour, mix it around with your fingers then place it in your pan one at a time. Otherwise, don’t cheat and try to do this the easy way cos the meat’s just gonna start bleeding while it sits there, waiting for its turn in the non-stick pan.
Step 3: Pour olive oil and half of the butter into the pan. Stir around until butter is melted, which shouldn’t take long if your pan is hot enough, then sauté the beef (in batches, remember?) until it’s nicely browned. Repeat until you finish with all the meat.
You can sauté them as long as you want, depending on your preferences. While salmonella is an ever-present danger, (especially in, how do I put this, habitats populated solely by males) well done generally tastes like dried bark. Live a little. Emergency room experiences are usually not that bad, particularly if you’re unconscious from abdominal cramps.
Step 4: Heat thick-bottomed saucepan, and add a bit of olive oil. Metal always needs some lube to make it look pretty and shiny. Dump garlic into the pot and sauté until aromatic. Don’t burn it to a crisp. Pour in wine and adjust flame until it boils. Lower flame again and stir periodically to remove any burned brown bits in the bottom of the pan. This really shouldn’t happen if you’ve been good and used the murder weapon like I told you to. Wait for wine to reduce.
Step 5: While you’re waiting, arrange the meat in a circular pattern on pretty plates, or just lump the stuff together if you’re dining in alone. Keep the meat warm by placing it in an oven or the rice cooker.
Step 6: When the wine has been reduced by about a third of the original amount, turn off the flame and stir in the rest of the butter. Spoon the sauce over the meat slices and serve immediately.
You could also try doing artsy-fartsy stuff like garnish the dish with parsley and sprinkle coarse pepper in a circle around the meat to impress your date.
And voila, dinner!
Note: This is here because I like to pretend that people are actually going to try doing this at home. Title and disclaimer supplied by the ever-witty Arion.
Usual "I am absolved of all moral and legal responsibility blah blah blah" clause stands.
Beef Tenderloin with Red Wine Sauce
Kinda liked poking around the kitchen after my first pasta attempt, so this is the second dish I’m trying to cook competently. That means no setting the cooker hood on fire or accidentally spilling molten cheese onto my foot.
First of all, I’m told recipes start with a list of ingredients, so here goes.
You will need:
1 big pan, preferably of the non-stick variety if you’re ham-fisted like me.
1 thick-bottomed saucepan (how thick? If you whack someone over the head with that saucepan, you want to know for sure that it’s the guy’s head that will break, not the pan. That’s how thick)
1 large plate
*Beef tenderloin, thinly sliced
1 cup of red wine (cheap wine is only for incapacitating innocent girlies)
About a clove of finely-shopped garlic. More if you’re the bane of all vampires around.
A bowl of all-purpose flour
Pinch of dried thyme leaves/McCormick thyme
Butter, about 2 teaspoonfuls
Enough olive oil to coat your pan
Salt and pepper to taste
Sprigs of parsley for garnish
*I assume you’re like me and can’t recognise tenderloin of cow from, say, shank of cow, so just pick up the styrofoam box that says ‘beef tenderloin’ and you’ll be safe. If you do your shopping in markets, I guess you’ll just have to trust your butcher. If you can’t translate tenderloin to BM/Chinese/Tamil/Misc, sorry, I can’t help you. I don’t know what the heck it is either.
You’ll also notice that there’re no exact measurements on that list. That’s because I don’t have one of those nifty Pyrex cups with the measurements in both metric and imperial, so I just wing it and hope for the best.
How to:
Step 1: Make sure your plate is dry, then throw in flour, thyme, salt and pepper. Mix around with fingers until it’s all more or less blended together. Heat pan on burner, but keep fire on medium heat max. If you’re a slow worker then put it on low, cos you don’t want to leave permanent burn marks your mom’s expensive non-stick pan and get needlessly screamed at.
Step 2: Dip beef slices into the mixture of flour and make sure both sides are coated. Shake off excess flour. The goal is to saute the buggers, so repeat until you have enough beef slices to fit comfortably into your pan. The point is not to cram as many slices as you can, but to make sure that each slice lies flat on the pan when it’s sautéing.
If you really have a huge pan, or a small amount of beef, then you can just tip all the meat into the flour, mix it around with your fingers then place it in your pan one at a time. Otherwise, don’t cheat and try to do this the easy way cos the meat’s just gonna start bleeding while it sits there, waiting for its turn in the non-stick pan.
Step 3: Pour olive oil and half of the butter into the pan. Stir around until butter is melted, which shouldn’t take long if your pan is hot enough, then sauté the beef (in batches, remember?) until it’s nicely browned. Repeat until you finish with all the meat.
You can sauté them as long as you want, depending on your preferences. While salmonella is an ever-present danger, (especially in, how do I put this, habitats populated solely by males) well done generally tastes like dried bark. Live a little. Emergency room experiences are usually not that bad, particularly if you’re unconscious from abdominal cramps.
Step 4: Heat thick-bottomed saucepan, and add a bit of olive oil. Metal always needs some lube to make it look pretty and shiny. Dump garlic into the pot and sauté until aromatic. Don’t burn it to a crisp. Pour in wine and adjust flame until it boils. Lower flame again and stir periodically to remove any burned brown bits in the bottom of the pan. This really shouldn’t happen if you’ve been good and used the murder weapon like I told you to. Wait for wine to reduce.
Step 5: While you’re waiting, arrange the meat in a circular pattern on pretty plates, or just lump the stuff together if you’re dining in alone. Keep the meat warm by placing it in an oven or the rice cooker.
Step 6: When the wine has been reduced by about a third of the original amount, turn off the flame and stir in the rest of the butter. Spoon the sauce over the meat slices and serve immediately.
You could also try doing artsy-fartsy stuff like garnish the dish with parsley and sprinkle coarse pepper in a circle around the meat to impress your date.
And voila, dinner!
Note: This is here because I like to pretend that people are actually going to try doing this at home. Title and disclaimer supplied by the ever-witty Arion.
Congratulations me!
Shameless post, heheh.
Saffron is now officially a Dean's List student, with a brand spanking new CGPA of 3.78!
Three cheers for me, muahahaha.
Saffron is now officially a Dean's List student, with a brand spanking new CGPA of 3.78!
Three cheers for me, muahahaha.
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